


focal point

by omigiri



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-26 22:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30113097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omigiri/pseuds/omigiri
Summary: “Is it hot in here or what,” Akagi’s voice somehow makes its way through the haze clouding over all of Osamu’s senses, the words hissed into his ear.“Yeah,” Osamu replies dumbly, unable to look away from the way Suna positively gleams underneath the studio lights. “Yeah, real hot.”Osamu signs up for an introductory art course and analyzes much more than just a few paintings.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 7
Kudos: 58
Collections: SunaOsa





	focal point

**Author's Note:**

> i thought about suna with a piercing and knew i needed to put osamu through this crisis as well. happy reading!

Osamu had applauded himself for having the foresight to register for what he had preemptively chosen to call his “stress relief period” in the form of an introductory art studio class. It meets twice a week for four hours each in the late afternoon, but the email his professor had sent out before the semester started had informed him that lectures usually ran for less than half that allotted time and the rest of it was for free studio use. It was perfect. He could fuck around, maybe learn how to draw some nice fruit bowls, maybe critique some dead men’s paintings, and it would be a nice breath of fresh air from the heavy workload his business courses had promised (he’d peeked at the syllabi earlier and tried not to tear up). 

So really, ART002 was supposed to be fun. It was supposed to be easy. But above all, it was supposed to be _relaxing_.

He soon learns that it is anything but.

The first two weeks of it pass by in a blissful blur. He soars comfortably through syllabus week, feeling like he is in a peaceful little bubble every time he finds himself in the airy studio room, far away from the stuffy lecture halls where he is required to think critically about budget analysis and know every single keyboard shortcut on a spreadsheet filled with way too many numbers to be healthy for a young man like him. The most thinking he ever has to do for this class is flip through a short reading or two and then reply to the online discussion questions with his own thoughtful interpretations. He doesn’t even have to respond to someone else’s discussion post! It’s a dream come true!

But he should have seen this coming. He should have known that life as Miya Osamu is never going to be easy nor breezy (but it is beautiful because hey, he’s Miya Osamu and he owns several mirrors). He should’ve known from the first sign of danger, but you know what they say about hindsight and all that. Twenty-twenty or whatever. 

Suna Rintarou doesn’t have a single class on Thursdays — a fun little fact he likes to drop every now and then to piss both Osamu _and_ Atsumu off in one fell swoop — and so seeing him on campus should have alerted Osamu to the fact that his life was about to change forever.

“Why aren’t ya at home?” Osamu asks in lieu of proper greeting when Suna falls into step beside him, matching his pace easily. 

The walk to the studio is a bit of a hassle. The art department is set on the edge of campus, a cluster of mismatched buildings spread out and separated by patches of overgrown grass. There’s whimsical sculptures and displays in between the buildings and some of their grey walls have been painted over with bright murals. It’s actually quite nice to wander through because Osamu always finds something new that he missed the last time he’d been there, but getting there is a journey of its own.

But it’s a nice trek when he’s got good company.

Suna stuffs his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and shrugs. “I got a thing to do,” he says vaguely.

(That was the second sign of danger, but Osamu is known to lose all coherent thought when Suna looks so soft in an oversized hoodie with bed-ruffled hair and there’s a fading crease on his cheek from how hard he’d napped before this and he’s blinking extra slowly, as if he’s still sleepy and—)

“Keeping secrets Rin?” Osamu teases as he carefully wraps the half of his sandwich that he’s decided to save for after class. He offers it to Suna before tucking it into the side pocket of his backpack when he gets a tiny shake of his head in response.

Suna side eyes him briefly before blinking away. His mouth presses into a tiny frown and — Osamu leans closer just a bit to make sure he’s seeing this right — a blush dusts across the tops of his cheekbones. He looks slightly embarrassed. 

“You’re heading to your studio class, aren’t you?” he asks instead of giving Osamu a real answer. When Osamu nods, his expression smooths into an easy smile and there’s a playful little gleam in his eyes that Osamu kind of loves. “You’ll find out soon then.”

That third and final warning peeks at him through the coy curve of Suna’s smile but Osamu is too caught up in the way it lights up Suna’s face to pay it any mind. It should have set the alarm bells off in his mind, but his brain stays obliviously silent as he follows after Suna to his inevitable downfall. He wishes he had turned tail and ran right there and then.

Because now he is sitting in what’s supposed to be his happy little bubble in the art studio, far away from all the other stress this campus throws at him, but there’s nothing happy nor bubbly nor peaceful about it right now. He must be having some sort of hyper realistic dream or he must be high as fuck because there’s no way he just heard his TA say they’re going to be studying figures today and there’s _absolutely_ no way Suna Rintarou is standing amongst the lineup of models at the front of the classroom. The models. The nude models. The nude models that they are supposed to use as references for their figure study. Today. Did Osamu already mention they were nude? Because they are.

Or at least, they’re about to be.

Osamu feels like he’s about to pass out. He barely registers his TA’s voice as he points out several stools set out around the classroom, gesturing for the models to take a seat wherever they’d like. He doesn’t even have the chance to send up a silent prayer to whatever god is playing this sick joke on him before Suna is settling atop the stool in his direct line of vision. And then it gets worse, because Suna is comfortably shrugging the robe off his shoulders and it’s slipping down the slope of his arms and pooling around his waist and— and it _should_ stop there because Osamu really can’t take much more but it doesn’t, because then he’s untying the flimsy knot at the front and the robe is falling away and— oh fuck.

Osamu is definitely going to pass out.

“Is it hot in here or what,” Akagi’s voice somehow makes its way through the haze clouding over all of Osamu’s senses, the words hissed into his ear.

“Yeah,” Osamu replies dumbly, unable to look away from the way Suna positively _gleams_ underneath the studio lights. “Yeah, real hot.” He blinks to attention at that, the implication of his words washing over him almost immediately and his head whips to the side to see Akagi smirking at him. He looks thoroughly pleased that Osamu had fallen into his trap so easily.

“Fuck you,” he whispers in an attempt to grasp at any remains of his dignity but the damage has already been done. His attention drifts back to Suna, trying to ignore the way Akagi keeps watching him out of the corner of his eye.

It’s no secret that Suna is pretty, unbelievably so. Dark lashes fan over high cheekbones, his angled face framed with bangs swept aside effortlessly, brushing against pale cheeks and a strong jaw. But his eyes, those are Osamu’s favorite part of him. They’re sharp, an almost emerald green, but sometimes when they catch Osamu in their gaze, it feels like a dizzying depth, somewhere he could drown in if he allowed himself.

Suna shifts in his seat, focused on the TA as he instructs the models into their first pose. Again, Osamu can’t help but admire the way he is nearly shining, the light glinting off of him as he twists his upper body— wait. Wait no, he’s like, _actually_ shining. 

Osamu screws up his face in confusion as he squints to figure out what exactly is sparkling off Suna’s body, and then he deeply regrets the fact that he is not nearsighted because what his very healthy eyes are seeing makes him feel faint all over again.

It’s metal. It’s _a_ _piercing_. Suna Rintarou has a piercing that Osamu has never seen before despite knowing him for almost eight years now. There’s a silver barbell winking at him from Suna’s chest, shot straight through a dusky nipple. It flashes almost mockingly at Osamu every time Suna takes in a breath, his chest rising and falling, catching the light and then letting it go in an even rhythm.

It’s strange because Suna is breathing perfectly fine but for some reason Osamu feels like there’s no usable oxygen in this giant, spacious room. Fuck, it’s _really_ hot in here.

The classroom simmers down into a low hum as everyone’s focus turns to their sketches. The air conditioning whirs overhead and the room echoes with the scratch of graphite over paper and sheets sliding over table tops and the buzz of hushed conversation every now and then, and usually Osamu finds the mix of noises calming, but today he can barely hear anything over the way his heart is thundering in his ears.

“Hey.” Akagi leans over again a few minutes later, trying very hard to keep his snickering quiet enough to not alert their TA. It appears to be quite a difficult feat, because he can barely form words around the muted laughter threatening to burst out of him, sounding breathless as he tries to get his question out properly. "How'd ya draw the— the _piercing_ Samu?"

Osamu doesn't have an answer for him because he hasn't even started drawing. He isn't sure he even remembers how to hold a pencil anymore. He can sense Akagi coming up with another teasing gibe and he jerks an elbow at him to get him out of his personal space, but his upperclassmen dodges his half-hearted attempt with barely concealed glee. The movement knocks into the edge of the table instead and he yelps in surprise, a jolt shooting up through his funny bone.

Akagi covers his laugh with an unconvincing cough as Osamu rubs his arm and throws him a venomous glare. It doesn’t deter him at all, unsurprisingly. Turning away, Osamu glances around to make sure their TA isn’t coming over to scold them for horsing around and instead finds himself caught in the piercing gaze of one Suna Rintarou. 

Suna is careful not to move his chin out of position as he watches Osamu out of the corner of his eye. His mouth quivers slightly, like he’s holding back a laugh of his own. When he notices that Osamu is looking back at him, he lifts a brow almost imperceptibly and, as if Osamu doesn’t already have enough to deal with right now, he winks.

Osamu feels his cheeks warm with the deepest blush he’s ever experienced in his life, hot all over like someone’s lit a fire beneath his chair, but try as he might, he can’t focus on anything but allure of Suna’s smile and the knowing twinkle in his eyes. His mind seems to short circuit, racing too fast and yet screeching to a complete stop at the same time. In an attempt to distract himself, he tears his gaze away and it instead drifts down Suna’s form, following strong lines and sloping curves, smooth skin completely on display for Osamu (the rest of the class can get fucked— this is _his_ ) and finally comes to a stop at the metal glinting delicately on his chest.

He is successful because yes, this is distracting, but it’s definitely _not_ the kind of distraction he wanted.

Suna readjusts in his seat and the piercing flashes as he moves, bright and blinding. It makes Osamu blink stars out of his eyes, feeling dazed, and he gives a tiny shake of his head to try and clear his mind. He looks back up to find that Suna’s smile has grown, the quirk of his lips giving away how funny he must be finding all this.

Osamu can feel his palms begin to sweat when he realizes that Suna had done that on purpose, that he had known Osamu was ogling, blatantly at that, and perhaps he had even— wanted it? His eyes snap back to the blank sheet of paper in front of him, apparently the only safe spot to look at in this entire room, and tries to calm the blush growing darker still on his face.

His saving grace comes in the form of his TA announcing that they can head out if they don’t want to stick around for free studio time and Osamu can’t seem to shove his things into his backpack fast enough. He ignores Akagi’s giggles and the pressing weight of Suna’s gaze pinned on him and hurries out of the classroom hastily.

That first breath of fresh air once he’s escaped the studio makes Osamu feel like he’s been reborn out of the ashes of his Suna-induced breakdown. It provides the clarity he needed to make sense of this situation. He comes to a conclusion almost immediately, like a lightbulb flickering on in the recesses of his mind, way past all the deeply ingrained images of Suna and Suna’s dark eyes and Suna’s pale shoulders and Suna’s _nipple piercing_ and—

He’s getting away from himself. The lightbulb shines more insistently and Osamu shakes off any other thoughts except for what’s important: this is all Atsumu’s fault. Because of course it is.

He whips around with a determined look on his face and stomps all the way across campus where Atsumu is no doubt tucked into a corner of the gym, waiting around before volleyball practice. This _is_ all his fault, because he’s been practicing with Suna for months now and sharing a locker room with him, so there’s no way Atsumu doesn’t know.

The gym is quite literally on the opposite side of campus so Osamu is nearly out of breath when he slams the doors open, the sound echoing off the high ceilings ominously. He hopes it strikes fear in his brother’s heart. He glares into the emptiness of the gym before finding the scrubby mop of blonde hair on the far end, bouncing a ball off the wall almost nonchalantly.

Atsumu’s relaxed composure pisses him off; the fact that he can stand there, nothing but oblivious and peaceful, when he’s single handedly ruined Osamu’s life is just _wrong_.

“You dirty bastard,” Osamu snarls, stomping across the courts to point an accusing finger at Atsumu. “You _absolute_ ass.”

Atsumu turns around with an angelic smile on his face, all dazzling and bright and perfectly punchable. “Yup, that’s me!” he responds, letting the ball drop and roll off so he can instead clutch his hands to his chest like some sort of swooning heroine. “To what do I owe this pleasure, dearest brother?”

Osamu thinks he deserves many monetary rewards for not throttling Atsumu at this moment. “Tsumu!” he snaps, shaking a clenched fist at him. “You! You—!” Now that he’s here, he’s finding it hard to properly explain _how_ this is Atsumu’s doing, but he is still 100% sure it is. “ _You_ —!”

Atsumu blinks at him, lifting a brow as he waits. “It’s okay Samu,” he says loudly over his twin’s incoherent spluttering. “I know words are hard, don’t worry. Whenever yer ready, you just lemme know.” He nods seriously as if he understands exactly what Osamu is trying to tell him with his angry monosyllables. 

“I hate you,” Osamu finally manages, glaring daggers at him.

With a tiny shrug, Atsumu flops onto the floor and pats the spot next to him to get Osamu to join him. “Feeling’s mutual,” he replies, brushing his words off. “Now tell me something new.”

Osamu lets his backpack hit the ground with a thud and slumps down beside his brother, defeat bearing heavy on his shoulders. He crosses his legs beneath him and steadies his elbows atop his knees before leaning forward with a grave expression. “Suna’s got a piercing,” he tells Atsumu in a low whisper, with the severity of someone revealing something incredibly life changing

There’s a half second’s pause before a grin splits across Atsumu’s face.

“I said tell me something _new_.”

Osamu reaches out and pinches Atsumu in the thigh, twisting sharply until his brother is squealing for him to stop. “I fucking hate you,” he repeats, glowering darkly at him. “You _knew_ and you—! _You_!”

Atsumu snickers as he rubs his thigh, too busy profiting off Osamu’s misery to truly feel the pain. He waves a hand dismissively as if this is everyday news and not a groundbreaking piece of information that is turning Osamu’s world upside down. “Oh that little thing? Did I forget to tell ya?” he wonders aloud. He taps his finger against his chin, the epitome of practiced innocence, before shrugging in an _oh well!_ kind of way. “Guess it must have slipped my mind.”

Osamu closes his eyes and mentally counts backwards from ten to hold himself back from physically wiping the smug smile off Atsumu’s face.

Atsumu continues as if he doesn’t feel the anger rolling off Osamu in nearly tangible waves. “Saw it at the beginning of summer conditioning I think? He said it didn’t hurt that much but it had to have hurt if he only got _one_ done, ya know? Like I’m pretty sure he just chickened out of the second—”

“Summer conditioning?!” Osamu screeches, giving in and grabbing Atsumu by the collar. “It’s fucking _October_. That’s an entirely new season Tsumu! Ya held out on me for a whole season!”

“So what?” Atsumu’s laughter is loud and carefree, all high notes of delight at Osamu’s expense. He barely even reacts to the way Osamu is whipping him back and forth like a ragdoll, which just makes him jerk him around even harder. 

“Why’re ya so riled up about it anyway?” he snorts when Osamu finally releases him. He smirks and waggles his brows suggestively. “Are ya finally going ta tell him ya wanna smoosh booties with him or somethin’? It’s ‘bout time.”

“Never say that ever again or I’m gonna send Sakusa the video of ya drunk crying over his fuckin’ forehead.”

Atsumu, always the one for dramatics, gasps loudly in offense. “He has two beauty marks up there!” he exclaims indignantly, as if that’s explanation enough. “ _Two_!”

“Yeah and you’ve got none which means he’s way outta yer league,” Osamu shoots back. “Cry about it. Oh wait, ya already did.”

“At least I haven’t been in love with the same person since _high school_ but never had the balls to make a damn move!”

“I’m about to make a move on yer fuckin’—!”

The gym doors bang open, bringing with them the loud voices of the volleyball team as they trickle in for practice and effectively drowning out Osamu’s threats. He glares one last time at his brother before pushing himself to his feet with a frustrated huff.

“Just ask him out, Samu,” Atsumu sighs from the floor, leaning back on his hands so he can look up at him comfortably. “He literally stripped for ya and ya still think he just wants to be friends? How thick can ya get?”

Osamu peers at him in confusion. “Whaddya mean _for_ me?”

Atsumu lifts a brow at him, expression flat. “You really think he didn’t know that was _your_ class?”

He doesn’t get the chance to properly process this nor question him further because someone is calling Atsumu over to help set up the nets and his brother is darting off with one last meaningful look at him from over his shoulder. Osamu grabs his things and heads out, dodging athletes as they filter into the gym.

He ducks his head as he hurries to leave before anyone has the chance to stop him, not in the mood for small talk or catching up, but mostly he wants to get out of here before a certain someone arrives. He is definitely not emotionally equipped to handle a conversation with Suna, not only because he still hasn’t recovered from seeing so _much_ of him, but also because he knows how embarrassing it was for him to have practically run out of class earlier. The exit is just around this corner, he can see the flickering light above the door reflecting red onto the hallway walls, and he speeds up, almost free—

“Osamu.” Suna’s voice nearly makes him jump out of his skin, startling him enough to trip over his own two feet.

He catches himself and looks around to see Suna standing there with his volleyball bag slung over his shoulder. He looks completely at ease, his hood halfway over his hair and his hands slipped into his pockets, a starkly contrasting picture to the flustered mess that Osamu feels like at the moment. 

“There you are. You left real quick earlier.” A smile slowly curves across Suna’s face. 

Osamu stammers to give him an intelligent response and ends up with, “You were naked. In my class.”

Suna levels his gaze with Osamu’s, looking like he is trying very hard not to laugh. “I was, yes.”

“Why?” Osamu blurts out, unable to stop himself.

“Aran said the art department needed some extra help,” he explains with a shrug. “It paid really well just to sit around for a few hours so I figured, why not?”

“There’s so many reasons why not,” Osamu mutters, mostly to himself. This makes Suna laugh, a quiet little huff through his nose that makes Osamu feel like he’s missing the joke here.

Suna arches a brow curiously and it transports Osamu back to the classroom where he had done the same, with that self-assured little smile on his face, that smooth wink, the way he had _glowed_ under the studio lights. Osamu is starting to feel hot under his collar all over again and it’s making it hard to look Suna in the eye, afraid that Suna will be able to see all his nervous thoughts reflected back at him in Osamu’s gaze.

Shifting from foot to foot, Osamu finds his eyes wandering in an attempt to maintain any sort of composure. He can’t let Suna know that he hasn’t been able to get the image of him atop that stool out of his mind, hasn’t been able to stop thinking about his piercing and what it must feel like, and if Suna’s gaze keeps boring into his like this, he is sure he will give himself away within seconds. He blinks quickly, eyes shifting every time, flitting all over the place, from Suna’s forehead, under guise of meeting his gaze— his pointed mouth, a tiny smile poised there— the peeling patch of paint on the wall above Suna’s shoulder— the strings of his hoodie hanging limply, one stretching down lower than the other— the crease of his hoodie where his shirt must be bunched up beneath— further beneath where his piercing is hidden— Osamu would never be able to tell if he didn’t already know it existed— his piercing— his piercing, his piercing, his piercing—

“Something the matter, Samu?” Suna tilts his head to the side, looking almost innocent. Almost. The devious smile gives him away.

“You never told me you had a piercing.” The words shove their way out of his mouth before he can hold them back. He winces, hoping it hadn’t come off as accusatory.

“Oh?” Suna sounds surprised, as if he hadn’t expected Osamu to crack so quickly. “What about it?”

 _What about it?_ There are _so_ many things about it that Osamu could talk about but none of them are socially acceptable at this moment in time. He licks his lips nervously. His tongue feels too big for his mouth and he’s afraid it will start saying more words that he doesn’t want it to. His eyes are still resting far too low on Suna’s torso to be normal, staring far too obviously for Suna to pretend not to notice for much longer.

Osamu’s time is up.

“Samu,” Suna’s voice is thick with laughter. “My eyes are up here.”

His gaze snaps up to see Suna grinning widely, thoroughly amused. Osamu is sure his mouth is moving to apologize, to give an explanation, to make _any_ excuse, but all his ears are hearing is some sort of strange strangled noise of pain. He silently prays that sound is not coming from him, but he definitely hears God tell him something along the lines of, _Better luck next time buddy_.

Suna continues as if Osamu hasn’t just completely made a fool of himself. “If you’re trying to see it again, you gotta take me out first. Wine an’ dine me, all o’ that, y’know?” He moves forward and Osamu braces himself for the _Gotcha!_ , the _I’m kiddin’ loser_ , but none of it comes. Instead, Suna steps around him to head to the locker room and Osamu suddenly remembers where they are. 

“You can pick me up for dinner after practice,” Suna tells him easily, voice light and airy, as if this is normal for them, like this is an everyday occurrence. He stops in the doorway, looking at Osamu over his shoulder with a wide grin. “Don’t be late. ‘Kay, _babe_?”

There is _no way_ Osamu just heard that right. He chokes on air, once again rendered speechless and more flustered than should be humanly possible.

Suna’s laughter is loud, eyes crinkling as his head tips back with the weight of it. When he settles down, he gazes at Osamu a little softer and it’s with an unexpected sort of fondness that he says, “No, seriously. Don’t be late. I want you to take me out.” He pauses for a second, looking thoughtful. “Or I can take you out. The specifics don’t matter, just as long as it’s you.”

The gentle honesty is unexpected and Osamu is far from prepared for it so his body reacts before his mind can even catch up. His answering smile is so bright it feels like his cheeks can’t stretch far enough. He can barely hear anything over the way his heart is beating loudly in his chest, but he is pretty sure he promises Suna that he’ll be here and that he can’t wait. Because he really can’t.

Of all the ways Osamu had foreseen this playing out, the one where he is loitering in front of the gym hours later while obediently waiting for Suna to emerge wasn’t even on the list of potential outcomes. _This_ certainly had to be the most ideal of all possibilities: the sight of Suna Rintarou striding towards him with an easy smile while his own face lights up immediately with a matching grin.

And while it had been thoroughly embarrassing to get here, he figures it probably could have gone worse.

 _Yeah_ , he thinks to himself when he feels Suna’s fingers slip between his, tugging him by the hand in the direction of the train station. _Could’ve been way worse_.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [twt](https://twitter.com/iwaizakis)!
> 
> ♡ [fic promo](https://twitter.com/iwaizakis/status/1373030729446092801)


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